


the beast

by sanzuh



Series: tale as old as time [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27367648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Summary: Decided to add a Jon POV (though Ghost slips through as well in the first half). Doesn't do much for the plot, but I enjoyed it, and I hope you will, too!
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: tale as old as time [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968514
Comments: 52
Kudos: 151





	the beast

The falling snow shrouds the night in an eerie silence. Far away, Jon can hear the rustling of leaves and closer to him the wind is whispering. Still, it's too quiet and it's unsettling to him, as is the way the drifting snowflakes and the white blanket covering the ground is masking all scents around him.

He has little to fear, and his scent must be hidden as well, which would be an advantage, if there were any creatures around, but there aren't. He'll have to venture deep into the woods, where the snow hasn't touched the forest floor yet, where the scents will be rich and warm, and life is still thriving.

He turns west before he reaches the underground man village. The forest to the north of the lake with the man tower is small, but the rocky slopes at the other end of it will always yield prey.

For now, he enjoys the run, breathing in the cool night air that has not yet turned cold enough to sting his lungs. He flies over branches and roots, moss and leaves, under low branches and over small bushes, until he spies a flash of white from the corner of his eye. He whirls to the left and speeds up, chasing after the beast he's about to turn into a meal, feeling the thrill of the chase in his muscles and veins.

The hare is fast, but Ghost's legs are stronger, and the terrain is against it. If he were an ordinary wolf, the hare would be able to escape, but he's not. The hare tries to change direction, but Ghost is almost upon him, and with one final push of his paws, he leaps and his teeth close over the hare's neck.

The blood is warm and sweet on his tongue, and the meat is rich, steam wafting off it into the air as he tears chunks from the lifeless beast. It's a satisfying meal, and it fills his belly, but it's a long way back to where his human's body is. _Aye, we need to go back_. She is there, so they should be safe, but they haven't forgotten what happened when he'd brutally been forced back into that body, when they'd burned together.

_She's there now_ , Jon repeats, _she'll keep us safe._ But Ghost is right, there's only so much she can do. Thinking of her brings back the memory of Ghost's sister. _Lady._

He sits back on his haunches and throws his head back to howl. She went south, and only her bones came back. Their brother told Ghost they buried her, inside the castle walls they once called home, but that was a long time ago. Thinking of her makes Ghost sad. He yelps.

_Not gone,_ Jon reminds him. _Dead, but not gone._

Jon feels Ghost's sadness, mingled with his own, and that of another. His woman. _No, not mine_ , he corrects himself, shaking off the thought. It's too confusing. He throws his head back to howl again, letting go of some of his sorrow before he bursts into another run.

The moon has already set, but the starlight reflecting off the fresh snow is keeping the complete darkness at bay. The run is calming him down again. There's only the air rustling through his fur and streaming in and out of his lungs, his heart pumping the blood to his straining muscles, that propel him forward with every repeated and almost identical motion of his legs, his paws barely hitting the snow as he rushes across the silent landscape.

And then he's dragged back to his other body. He tries to resist the pull, struggles against it, and then he wakes up with a gasp. His heart is beating wildly, and he wants to thrash and snarl, until he takes a deep breath and smells _her_ , sweet and salty and so deliciously potent. Her breathing changes. His flailing must have woken her as well.

She turns around in his arms and blinks at him with bleary eyes. "Jon?" she mumbles. Her toes are like ice against his shins. The room has grown cold since the fire in the hearth has died, but he's here to keep her warm, and he's glad the flames have disappeared, though they don't scare him anymore now that she's here with him.

He pulls her closer and nuzzles her cheek. What's the man word again? "Sleep," he tells her.

She hums in response and closes her eyes, curling up against his chest and tucking her head under his chin. His chest aches at having her so close. _Sansa_. Such a pretty man-word. She's got something of the wolf inside of her, but she's not quite like him. She's pack, she's everything, but how can he make her see he is hers? How can he convince her to choose him, to let him make her his? She belongs with him, he knows it, he can feel it, deep inside his bones.

When Ghost found a she-wolf beyond the wall of ice, he started following her around, until she allowed him to get close to her. Then they spent some time together, always touching and nuzzling and snuggling. They started sleeping together, and grooming each other, there was more cuddling, until she was ready, and then she let him mount her.

Jon thought Sansa was ready the day before. She smelled ready. Perhaps next time he should put his head between her legs to assess her scent more accurately. He groans at the thought and instinctively rocks into her, lifting a leg to tangle it around her. He wants her so much, but she said it was wrong. He inclines his head, burying his face in her soft, sweet-smelling hair. She's perfect, so it must be him who's wrong.

Perhaps she wants him to be more like a man and less like a wolf. She's a woman, with only a touch of the wolf to her, but he doesn't know anything about courting women. He doesn't remember much about being human. He needs help, he needs to ask someone else what to do.

"How make Sansa mine?" he whispers to himself, practicing the words. But who should he ask?

She's stirring again. "Is something amiss, Jon?" she asks him, her voice croaky and rough.

"No, safe," he assures her.

She shifts in his embrace. "Are you sure?"

He doesn't have the words to explain it to her, so he remains silent.

"Why are you holding me so tightly?" she huffs.

He untangles their legs and releases her, already feeling emptier inside. Her soft hand cups his cheek and he can feel her eyes studying his face, but he can't meet them, so he closes his own.

"Why are you sad, Jon?" she asks him. "Please, don't be sad."

He whines, unable to answer her question. He opens his eyes to find tears in her pretty blue ones. When one slips down her cheek, he can't resist leaning in to close his lips over it and lapping it up, the salt melting on his tongue. When he pulls back to look at her face, she's blushing. She tilts her head up to press her lips to his own cheek. He likes that. He likes it very much.

He slides his arms around her again, careful not to pull her too close, or hold her too tightly, and she lets him. She doesn't try to push him away nor does she tell him to release her. She brushes his hair away from his brow and he leans in to press his lips to her cheek, to the tip of her nose and to her chin.

When he kisses the corner of her mouth, her breath hitches, and he holds still. "Sansa?" he whispers, and the sound of her frantic heartbeat fills the room. And there it is again, just the faintest trace of that scent, which he's only able to notice and identify because he's smelled it before.

Someone knocks on the door, loudly and insistently, and Jon launches himself off the bed to snarl at it. From the corner of his eye he can see Sansa's startled face, and her extended hand, still reaching for him.


End file.
